


the art of coming home

by margctbishop



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, but it's also sweet, look i'm just prepping you for the finale, ooo this is angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margctbishop/pseuds/margctbishop
Summary: "She clawed at his back, bringing him endlessly closer until the only thing she was cognizant of was him. And like that she remained, trying with everything in her to memorize exactly how it felt to be held by this man, to be loved by him. As though she could ever forget."or, the one where Louisa writes Spiros a letter and prepares to say goodbye.





	the art of coming home

**Author's Note:**

> so I don't normally post my fics because usually they're pretty depressing and not terribly good, but I figured that I'd share this one because I needed something to do while dreading/awaiting the final episode.
> 
> basically, this is my take on how Louisa comes to terms with saying goodbye.

In her mind, she had always known it was temporary. Nothing lasted forever, to put it banally, and she was no stranger to sudden change by any means. She had fallen pregnant young, was thrown into the fulfilling yet unbelievably tiresome wheelhouse that was motherhood, followed her husband to wherever he could find work. And then he’d died, and she had been left as the sole parental figure in the lives of four children who, while certainly lovely in their own rights, were troubled and needy and so relentlessly _unhappy_ that she decided to gather them up and move them all to Greece.

In her opinion, to call it a change of scenery would be to belittle the pandemonium they had undergone upon setting foot on the island. Larry, in his infinite authorial wisdom, had likened the early days to a baptism of fire, and looking back, she was rather inclined to agree. Between sidestepping the wayward animals Gerry brought home, helping the others navigate the tumultuous waters of their hormonally induced love lives (or lack thereof) and struggling to put food on the table, she had often felt more like a headless chicken than anything else. All of which was to comment on why she felt as though is wouldn’t be a great reach to label herself resilient. Flexible, even, in spite of whatever sniggers that particular descriptor would conjure up from the children.

But then the fire had been put out, or had at least mellowed to a light simmer, and they’d risen up considerably more united than they’d been before being hurtled into it. Her children began to smile again, thriving under the warm sun on an island brimming with culture and a love for life unlike anything they’d ever experienced. She started smiling again too, albeit gradually and sometimes with a measure of hesitance, but for the first time in a very long while, when she settled into bed at night and began to drift to sleep, she felt at home. She felt at peace in that ramshackle home with paint peeling off the walls and eccentric vagabonds wondering in and out of the front door, with the most exquisite view of crystal blue waters and the endless horizon one witnessed from looking out the kitchen window. With newly found friends who were more like family these days, who were so very near to her heart and provided the support system that she’d always craved but had never been careless enough to let herself hope for, let alone ask for.

But she hadn’t needed ask them. They fell so seamlessly into the lives of her and her children that it was increasingly difficult to remember a time when she didn’t have Florence sat in her kitchen with a cup of tea and the latest town gossip. A time when Theo wasn’t bumbling about, trailing after Gerry in search of whichever creature they’d set their sights on that time. A time when Lugaretzia wasn’t doting on Leslie or letting out huffs of exasperations at the others’ antics.

It was difficult to imagine a life without Spiros’ horn sounding from the front drive, without his beaming smile that threatened to split his face clean in two peering up at her. He’d become such a constant, turning up in her times of need as though he had a second sense for it and always willing to tackle whatever obstacles were thrown in her path, whether they be incompetent bank employees or jealous harpies who spawned within the pits of hell, all the while calling her _Mrs. Durrells_ so charmingly. She hadn’t expected this sudden onslaught of affection for these people, him in particular, but now that she knew what it was to be loved by them, the idea of parting tore her to pieces.

Which was exactly what she’d relayed to Larry after he’d stumbled into her room to find her having a proper fit, him hesitating only a moment before enveloping her in his arms and letting her sob out just how bloody unfair it all was, how she hated the very ground Hitler walked on for forcing them away from this inconceivably blissful life of chaos.

“It’s different this time, Larry,” she’d whimpered as she buried her face into his shirt.

“I know,” had come his assurance as he rubbed soothing circles onto her back. “I know it is.”

“I don’t know how to move on. Not this time.” And they’d both known what she meant, or rather to whom she was referring, but in one of his rarer moment, he’d said nothing and simply held her until the tears devolved into stains down her cheeks and his shirt was properly wrinkled. Only then had he spoken again.

“You should speak to him before we leave.”

"Oh, I don’t know, Larry,” she’d managed, shaky breaths coming from her chapped lips. “It would only make it harder. And there isn’t anything I could tell him that he wouldn’t already know.”

"I don’t know about that,” he’d said, drawing her away from him so he could run his thumbs under her damp eyes. “As much as it pains me to admit, us men don’t know everything.” She’d laughed at that, shoved him halfheartedly before allowing herself to sink back against him. “At the very least, write him a letter.”

"Not all of us have a gift with words, darling. My luck, it would come off sounding like the letters Gerry used to write to his creatures.” She’d smiled then, remembering the scribbled notes she would find in Gerry’s pockets when he was a bit smaller. Some children kept journals, but her child had written letters to a tortoise from the zoo whom he’d named Frank. No matter how incredibly endearing it had been, she’d immediately recognized the need for a tutor.

"Despite what I may have led you to believe, writing doesn’t have to be poetic. It doesn’t have to be beautiful,” he had told her. And then, “It just needs to be mildly coherent.”

"I’ll think about it.”

           

She had intended to shove his suggestion aside, to make sure her children were tucked safely into bed, or at the very least not setting Corfu town ablaze, before slinking up to her room with the bottle of cooking sherry. And she had, gripping the bottle between trembling fingers and hauling herself up the stairs, not bothering with the formality of a cup and allowing the blessed liquid to pour directly from the bottle’s neck and pass through her lips. But it tasted funny, burned a little too poignantly as it slid down her throat, though she couldn’t be sure if the discomfort was coming from the sherry or if it had been in her stomach all along. She suspected the latter.

She had intended to shove his suggestion aside, but she found her fingertips tracing the edges of a few loose sheets of paper left over from her letters to Larry, and before she could convince herself not to, she slunk down into the chair and uncapped a pen. Despite her initial reservations, the words came easily.

 

 

_Spiros,_

_I’m writing to you because Larry told me to, and because I’m coming to the unsettling realization that perhaps he’s more versed in this particular area than I am. The area of dealing with feelings that you’d rather not, that is._

_I don’t want to leave, though I’m sure you’ve assumed as much. I keep thinking back to our first day here, when we stepped off the boat with only our suitcases and Roger and attempted to navigate the jungle that is your home. It was maddeningly unfamiliar at first. I remember Gerry’s spiders being loosed in the house and his feverish screams as Larry promptly began to stomp on them, and the adjustment to having no electricity was quite grueling. But I more fondly remember the thrill of braving this new world, of encountering seemingly impossible obstacles and growing to know that I was capable of overcoming them._

_And since we must leave the island anyway, I suppose there’s no harm in being honest. Without you, I doubt we would’ve lasted 3 days here, much less 4 years. And what a shame that would have been, because these past 4 years have been the best years of my life. So I suppose there is something of a thank you swimming about amongst all this babbling._

_And since I will ideally be in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea by the time you’re reading this, I suppose a bit more honesty won’t bring the world to a halt. At least not on my end._

She capped her pen and located the bottle of sherry before continuing, swallowing a mouthful and leaving it uncorked on the table. Taking a steadying breath, she retrieved the pen.

 

_Leaving this island is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever faced. Knowing that I have to abandon this haven for the frigid suffocation of England is simply unbearable. But I dare say that knowing that I have to leave you behind is the hardest part. I doubt there are adequate words to explain exactly how much you mean to us, to me, but because I am far too craven to voice it aloud, I suppose I’ll give it a go on paper anyhow._

_I can’t imagine my life without you, though I know that soon I must. I’ve come to take you for granted, which couldn’t have been fair to you, but I can’t find it within me to be sorry. Such as it is that I am unable to muster up any repentance for my falling in love with you._

_I did not expect to come here and find love, much less in the kind eyes and generosity of a taken man, but I am only sorry that is has taken me until now to tell you, even if it is selfish of me to write these things. If I have learned anything, it is that life is too short to leave things of such importance unsaid, and I can’t bear the thought of leaving this island tomorrow without having told you, improper as it may be. In some way, this parting is worse than the death of my husband. There was a certain finality when he died, and though I’ve never known grievous sadness such as the likes of the one I felt after his passing, there was no uncertainty. He died, and there was no fixing it, no bringing him back._

_Parting with you is different, for it is not death that is tearing me from you. There is no irreparable force that I can’t comprehend. I have to live out my days knowing that you exist merely a boat ride away. I must go to England and relearn how to exist without you when you’re still living and breathing life into everything you touch._

_I am not asking you to wait for me, nor to mourn my absence. My need for your happiness overtakes even my shameful selfishness, and it is a great need. For you see, knowing that you exist apart from me is wretched enough, but imagining a world without your smile is infinitely more so._

Tears had begun to fall down her cheeks, and she forced them away with a measure of irritation. Larry was right. She needed to do this, if not for the sake of this man then for her own. She thought for a moment before pressing on, coming to the end and emptying out the rest of herself onto the paper in black ink. What was the harm when he had already stolen the heart right from out of her chest?

_I suppose that all of this is to say: make no mistake. I may leave this island and take all of my belongings with me, I may find myself laying dinner on a table in a terribly normal house in terribly ordinary England for every foreseeable night to come, a house without questionable stains and the ever-present cacophony of animals screeching and foreigners bickering. But Corfu has taken root in my bones, and some day, I will once more step foot on its sandy beaches. And when I do, I will be coming home._

_Until Then,_

_Louisa_

If it had been up to her, that last night would have been prolonged until the seas dried up and the sun fell from the sky. She would have been content to whittle away nestled in a house sat on a Corfiot hill and overlooking the Mediterranean. But the next day came, and the rising sun brought with it what she had to believe was every resident of the island to bid them farewell. She thought she heard word of a couple of visitors from Athens who’d come to wish the eccentric English family safe travels as well, but she was too consumed by the mayhem to pay much notice.

Sooner than she would have liked, their suitcases were piled into Spiros’ car, her children and Roger smooshed somberly together and gazing out at the passing trees and fields. The island had never seemed greener, never seemed so vibrant and alive, and Louisa was grateful. She wanted to remember it this way forever.

She was surprised to arrive at the docks and find even more people and tables of food spread out, a band playing merrily off to the side. When Florence came over and explained that the town had wanted them to have a proper send off, wanted it to be a celebration of new beginnings rather than an end, she took in the sight before her and felt her heart swell with pride. If she shed a few tears, no one blamed her, for very soon everyone had followed suit.

Lugaretzia took the children into her arms one by one, placing kisses onto the crowns of their heads and speaking softly to each of them, making them promise to be good for their mother. Theo gifted Gerry an owl pendant, pinning it onto his jacket and squeezing the boy so tightly that Louisa thought he would break, but Gerry didn’t seem to mind. Florence and her family were next, tearfully making their rounds until they stopped before Louisa, Florence dropping her head ever so slightly.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” she whispered into her ear, and Louisa hadn’t needed any further explanation. She muttered her thanks, pulling the other woman into her arms and feeling the slightest bit relieved.

Spiros hadn’t left her side since they’d arrived, either standing just behind or next to her. They hadn’t spoken much, hadn’t needed to, really. They both knew what had to happen. She was to leave, take her family and sail back to where they came from. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

When it was truly time for them to set sail, more tears and goodbyes were exchanged until the children and Roger were boarded and ready. All that was left was one thing, and she had been dreading it desperately.

She turned to him, looking up into the dark eyes she had grown so fond of. She saw moisture pool in them, threatening to spill over, and nothing could have stopped her from bringing an unsteady hand to cup his cheek. He leaned his face into it without second thought, bringing a hand of his own up to rest over hers, and she pressed her lips together in a vain attempt to stop a sob from forcing its way out of her throat. It escaped anyway, and just like that she was warm, folded in his arms until she was clinging to him like a child. She clawed at his back, bringing him endlessly closer until the only thing she was cognizant of was _him_. And like that she remained, trying with everything in her to memorize exactly how it felt to be held by this man, to be loved by him. As though she could ever forget.

Neither of them could have been sure just how long they stayed wrapped up in the other, but he eventually pulled away ever so slightly, brushing away her fallen tears with a calloused thumb and smiling wistfully down at her. He was the first to speak.

“Louisa Durrells,” he began, and the break in his voice had more tears welling up in her eyes. “Knowing you has been the greatest gift of my life.” He paused, squeezing her arms when a ragged sob ripped from her throat. “And for as long as I live, I will never forget you and your family.” The tears in his own eyes finally broke free, but she made no attempt to wipe them away. She knew it would be fruitless.

“And we will never forget you, Spiros,” she managed, not caring in the slightest how utterly broken the words came out. She knew that he understood. “I wrote you something,” she said, reaching down into her coat pocket and retrieving the letter. She pressed it into his palm, letting her hand linger there and hoping that its insistent press conveyed everything that propriety forbid her to say aloud. He nodded, slipping the letter into his own pocket before enclosing both of her hands in his. He brought his head down to rest against hers, let his eyes fall shut.

“This isn’t a goodbye, Mrs. Durrells,” he said, and she felt the corners of her lips tug up in a tender smile. “This is a… how do you say it?” He thought for a moment, and then, “A see you later, alligator.” She couldn’t help the wet laugh flying from her lips, and upon looking up at him, she knew that it was exactly what he was wanting. His acute gaze coupled with the sad smile on his mouth had her rising on her toes, not giving a damn as to who saw and hesitating only a moment before placing a soft kiss on his lips. It lasted less than a moment, but it was enough for her to know that she would remember it for a lifetime.

“See you later, Spiros,” she said. And she would. If there were two things that Louisa Durrell had learned, they were that life was too short to leave things of great importance unsaid, and that it didn’t matter how many miles or which oceans separated it, a love like this would always call you home.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know your thoughts :)


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